


Expectations

by redvineshark



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M, Slow Burn, el and max are minor but there, lots of angst bc character study, steve and billy is implied, unrequited at first but hold on
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2019-11-18
Packaged: 2020-11-25 15:30:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20914382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redvineshark/pseuds/redvineshark
Summary: There were a lot of things about Mike Wheeler that you would not immediately see upon meeting him. And Will Byers knew all of these things like the back of his hand, like the alphabet, like the days in a week, like the seasons in a year. He knew that Mike Wheeler liked yogurt for breakfast with strawberries and peaches but, under no circumstances, blueberries. He knew that Mike Wheeler would go on any ride at the local fair except for the carousel, because he had once fallen off as a kid. He knew that Mike Wheeler had exactly four and a half pairs of socks, and that he scrambled in the morning and could not match them. That Mike’s favorite color is blue (navy, not baby or sky, and especially not coral) and he can’t stand coffee, and he keeps his old stuffed animals under his bed because he’s Too Old to leave them out but Too Young to give them away. And, most of all, beating against his ribs, in the sinking feeling just below his heart, he knows that Mike Wheeler does not know much at all about him.





	1. Chapter 1

There were a lot of things about Mike Wheeler that you would not immediately see upon meeting him. And Will Byers knew all of these things like the back of his hand, like the alphabet, like the days in a week, like the seasons in a year. He knew that Mike Wheeler liked yogurt for breakfast with strawberries and peaches but, under no circumstances, blueberries. He knew that Mike Wheeler would go on any ride at the local fair except for the carousel, because he had once fallen off as a kid. He knew that Mike Wheeler had exactly four and a half pairs of socks, and that he scrambled in the morning and could not match them. That Mike’s favorite color is blue (navy, not baby or sky, and especially not coral) and he can’t stand coffee, and he keeps his old stuffed animals under his bed because he’s Too Old to leave them out but Too Young to give them away. And, most of all, beating against his ribs, in the sinking feeling just below his heart, he knows that Mike Wheeler does not know much at all about him.

“C’mon, it’s my favorite game!” Will was lying on the floor, staring at the ceiling, feet just an inch from Mike’s head. Mike was sitting upside down on the couch, legs hooked over the back and hair hanging down to the floor. They had been playing this guessing game for half an hour and Will had not missed a single question. Mike had been stumped on nearly every one. “I talk about it all the time.”

“...Gimme a hint?”

“Nevermind,” Will huffed and rose to his feet with a stretch. The Wheeler’s basement floor was not comfortable in the least. “It’s getting pretty late, my mom’s expecting me. You know how she gets.”

He almost expects a fight for it,  _ Will, c’mon, stay for dinner, spend the night, don’t go yet-  _ “Okay. See you tomorrow.”

Will pauses halfway up the dark stairs. He does not hear the creaking of floorboards behind him, or Mike’s mismatched socks on the basement carpet. Mike used to walk him to the garage before he started the trek home, to make sure he left alright. He glances behind him. He does not hear footsteps, but he does hear a walkie talkie sparking to life with that uneasy static he’d missed in his months...Away From Home. 

“Hey, El, I can talk!”

Will continues up the stairs, and this time he doesn’t look back.

***

There is not much time between school and dinner and sleep to spend with The Party, and even when there is he finds himself making an excuse. Because Dustin will be there, but so will his insistent stories of a Suzie he isn’t entirely sure exists. Lucas will be there, but so will his persistent bickering with Max. Mike will be there but ...Mike will be there. And so will Eleven, smiling at him like Will had for years, but El does not go unnoticed. El is met with a bright smile in return, that stupid frogfaced smile that Will tried so, so hard to draw out. El hardly even had to make an effort. All she had to do was exist.

Will bikes home (don’t crash, don’t crash, don’t crash-) straight after school and goes to bed early. There is no one to whisper into his walkie talkie to under the covers late at night, and there is no campaign to plan for or character sheets to draft. So Will the Wise can be found sound asleep at 9 o’clock on an average night, with a belly half full and dreaming of nothing and everything, but especially of slugs inching through drain pipes and soft black hair that dangles to the floor from a low, ugly couch.

***

He shoved Lucas out of the way, but it didn’t quite feel like him doing it. His arm flung out on it’s own, and his mouth forced out a “move!” before he could tell it any better. This time, footsteps, but he did not pause on the dark steps or chance a look over his shoulder, just stormed to the driveway and ignored how his face stung with embarrassment. 

“Will, c’mon, you can’t leave, it’s raining.” Mike shut the front door behind him and Will had missed when Mike used to walk him out but not like this, please, not like this, not when he’s fumbling to get ahold of his bike and trying to distinguish the tears from the rain. “Listen, I said I was sorry, alright?”

Will had learned to recognize pity rather quickly after returning right side up, and his jaw clenched with it. He would not let something he loved be contorted by pity, always pity,  _ poor little Will, how’d the scrawny thing even make it?  _ And even then he had expected better of Mike. He wasn’t sure why he kept doing that. “It’s a cool campaign, it’s really cool! We’re just...not in the mood right now!”

His jaw unclenched, and once again his tongue betrayed him, spitting out words before he could think them. “Yeah, Mike! That’s the problem, you guys are never in the mood anymore! You’re ruining our party!” He felt his throat constrict and make his voice sound strained, pathetic, he ached to breathe, deep, shallow, but his lungs felt fit to burst and any air they had once held was wheezed out with the force of his words.

“That’s not true!” And here they were again, Mike denying things. Will resented how good Mike had gotten at that, how terrible Will was at shoving things to the furthest corner of his mind. Somewhere he knew that Mike knew. Knew that best friends don’t do the things they do (he wouldn’t touch my hand like that, he wouldn’t laugh at my jokes like that, he wouldn’t borrow my shirts and leave his stupid socks at my house and let me steal bites of his food and let my face get that close and look at me like that and-)

“Really? Then where’s Dustin right now?” A pause. Mike looked as stumped as he had during that fucking questions game, Dragon’s Lair, you asshole, my favorite game is Dragon’s Lair, “See? You don’t even care, and obviously he doesn’t either, and I don’t blame him! You’re destroying everything-”  _ Everything,  _ “and for what? So you can swap spit with some stupid girl?”

“El’s not stupid!” And Will knows that, he knows that El is badass and sweet and smart and powerful and yeah, he gets it, a million times better than him. Mike knows, he has to know, it can’t just be Will- “It’s not my fault you don’t like girls!”

His words hang in the air, and Will is very sure that Mike Knows. Rain soaks his shirt and flattens his hair, (cold, cold, cold, he likes it cold) and the handles of his bike are still slippery, but maybe that’s the sweat that has made his fists clammy and shaking like a leaf. His words hang, but even heavier are the ones he did not say. They ring in Will’s ears anyway.  _ It’s not my fault you like me.  _ And, as Will pants and stares into Mike’s eyes for any hint of remorse, he admits that he’s right. His bad, really. But it would’ve been nice to have someone else to blame.

Mike averts his eyes and licks his lips and, for a moment, Will thinks he might apologize. “...Look, I’m not trying to be a jerk, okay? But we’re not kids anymore. I mean what did you think, really? That we were never gonna get girlfriends? That we were just gonna sit in my basement all day and play games for the rest of our lives?” He had expected more from Mike. Why? Why did he keep doing that?

“Yeah. I guess I did.” He finally grabbed ahold of his bike handles. “I really did.”

Will wasn’t sure where he was going, not at first, just felt the rain slicking his hair so it fell flat on his face as the wind beat against him relentlessly. Felt his ankles grow sore and weary from the exertion of his speed as he pedaled fast, like if he pushed himself hard enough he could pedal away from his problems, from his friends, from his disappointment, from his anger, from the lingering thought that had sat in the back of his head as he yelled at Mike. The thought that begged him to close the distance and press his lips to Mike’s, or else scream until his lungs ached and burned and popped. Maybe if he pedaled hard enough he could sail right out of Hawkins, cruising nice and easy to the next town over. He’d hole up at a motel with the emergency money stuffed in his bag and hitchhike around the country, see everything there is to see and not miss any of it, not this time. But his mind flipped through the last two years in a snapshot, and he knew he’d seen enough.

He had set himself to autopilot, he realized, as he came to a screeching halt next to the woods. He knew where he’d brought himself. Slowly, cautiously, he resumed his frantic pedaling, coming to a stop at the end of a bumpy trail, shrouded and framed with trees that had never felt more looming, sinister. If possible, the sky grew darker. He hopped off his bike and discarded it, allowing the leaves to swallow it as it fell to the ground with a resounding  _ whump.  _ He followed it shortly after, dropping to his knees after crawling through the threshold of Castle Byers. 

Fat tears still staining his face, mixing with the rain and pitter-pattering onto his legs, he curled up onto the cushioned floor, old pillows graciously donated by Joyce. He shrank into himself, covering his mouth with his hand for a moment, trying desperately with wet hands to dry his face. His breath came out ragged and wracked him with every inhale, and he shuddered with the weight of it. He ached to be held, to be comforted, wanted for nothing more than a gentle  _ it’s alright.  _ And, like the fourteen year old he doesn’t feel he is, like the thirteen year old who huddled in a back alley on Halloween night, like the twelve year old he never got to be, like the kid he is, but isn’t, he cries. 

He panted and unraveled himself from the ball he hadn’t known he’d formed, taking shallow breaths as he flicked through old comics tucked under a particularly ugly red couch cushion. Jonathan had given them to him for his birthday one year, and he’d read them until the ink faded and the pages grew worn. He recalled days spent on Jonathan’s bed, nodding his head to whatever song was playing on the stereo, watching him change the film in his cameras. He remembered crayola scratching on printer paper and Jonathan remarking on this drawing or that, picking colors for him, and he remembered thinking he had the coolest brother in the world. Jonathan’s room now lay decidedly empty most days, what with work and Nancy and  _ “Sorry, buddy, busy. We can watch a movie next week, okay?” _ His clenched fists crumpled the papers and he tossed them to the floor.

Artifacts of his childhood hung on the walls, begged to be rediscovered. He stared blankly at them. He thought of the party, just the four of them, in the year he didn’t finish. Of Dustin and Lucas bickering over the table, and his gaze flickering to Mike, who covered his smile with his dungeon master screen. How he never let them have a boring session, always wanted to play, encouraging them to stay late into the night to wrap an adventure up and settle into the next one. How Dustin and Lucas would bike home, and sometimes, Mike would grab his arm and ask just him to sleep over. That they’d set up a makeshift bed on Mike’s small pullout couch (even though they both knew he had an air mattress he could easily bring out) and the basement would be cold, so Mike would say nothing when Will huddled up close and whispered goodnight, just nod and wrap an arm around him. But they weren’t twelve anymore. Mike had grown tired of kid games, and it didn’t matter if Will was clinging to the time that had slipped through his fingers, there would be no more sleepovers and pillow forts and pullout couches and noses buried in the crooks of necks. No more trick-or-treating (the group had decided they were too old now, costumes and candy were kid stuff now, even if Will was one year short of too old) and even then, it had always been Will to show up last, always Will to walk behind the others. 

_ “Stupid. _ ” He whispered, glaring at the photos and drawings and books so carefully, lovingly, pinned and placed. “St-Stupid!”   
  


And then it was a flurry of rips and sobs and yells and  _ stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid.  _ Stupid to think he could get all that time back, stupid to think they’d care enough to let him, stupid kid stuff, stupid to think there was any comparison, any competition, that Mike was going to pick him. He was so, so stupid.

The bat was cold, the metal burned against his hands with the chill of it, and he gripped it tighter, swung it back the way Lonnie had tried to teach him before he decided the fag was just no good at sports. Squared his shoulders, grounded his feet, and crashed it down. He watched it snap, and felt a sick sort of satisfaction. So he swung again, and again, and then it was his hands tearing it down and apart, even when splinters dug and scraped into his arms, until Castle Byers was sticks at his feet, and the king fell with it.

***

Moving day, and it wasn’t any easier than the weeks of packing, because this was the Real Goodbye. There had been  _ when you’re gone _ ’s and  _ don't forget _ ’s, but it hadn’t completely sunk in. He was both glad and painfully unhappy to part with Hawkins. Well, Hawkins he could part with. It was the people that made him more reluctant. Jonathan shoved the last of the boxes into the beat-up car, and Will was already sobbing, which felt silly, but then not silly at all when Mike got all crooked in the way he knew meant waterworks. He braced himself for one last tight goodbye hug, but Mike’s arms were around Eleven in an instant. Expecting more again. He really had to stop doing that. 

Mike’s arms held him cautiously, then. He had hugged him tighter a million times before, but this felt weak, performed, and ended in an instant. He wanted to grab and cling and ball his hands up in that dumb blue shirt (baby, not navy, and maybe he was wrong) and wet it with tears and not care if it stained, because that would be Mike’s problem once they hit the road. He wanted to rip an arm off the shirt buried in one of El’s many boxes, from Mike, because she had gotten something to remember him by and Will’s arms were empty. Mike held him like an afterthought, and he held Eleven like the sun would never come up if he didn’t. 

He waited, foolishly, for an extra goodbye, or a parting gift or something, anything, until he clambered into the car, and even then he almost wanted Mike to chase after them. He knew if he did, he’d be chasing El. Will looked out the window, and thought of the purple starred hat he had decidedly left in the Wheeler’s basement, of the black funeral suit he left hanging in his closet because he could not bear to look at it, even if Bob would’ve liked him to bring it. Of the dumb blue tie somewhere in the U-haul, and the dance with Mike he had considered but did not ask for. Will looked out the window and watched Hawkins fade to green, past that wooden welcome sign, and then he watched Hawkins become nothing at all.

***

Adjusting to the new school, new town, new sister, new everything, wasn’t easy, not by a long shot, but Will scraped by. Getting away from Mike was the breath of fresh air he needed (though that sentiment was not shared by El) to think of other things. Things like art, and astronomy, and D&D, and family dinners, and that Mike wasn’t the only thing that made him happy, never was, even if he had forgotten that every now and then. He starts thinking about other things. There’s a boy at school. He makes dumb jokes, a class clown type Mike had never been, but compassionate when he needed to be. He made sure Will and El never ate lunch alone, and he let Will pick at his leftovers for anything salvageable of cafeteria food. He gives Will stupid nicknames, but they don’t feel condescending, not said to make fun, but to make Will feel special. For the right reasons. Because he’s Will Byers, not because he’s Will Byers the missing kid, or Will Byers the fairy, or Will Byers with the creepy brother. And he does feel special, for the first time in a long time. Especially because when the boy smiles, and El is sitting right beside him, sipping on her chocolate milk, he’s smiling right at Will.

They spend most of September together, and then all of October, and by the time November rolls around they’re joined at the hip, rarely found without the other and his sister not far behind. The boy’s name is Jack, and he’s carding a hand through Will’s now overgrown hair (“Really, ‘s like a nest, Byers.” “Is it a nice nest? With baby birds or something?” “Oh, there’s definitely a bird somewhere in there, but I dunno if it’s alive- Ow! Hear that? Pecked me!”) when El starts bouncing on her heels.

“What’s up, Elly-bean?” Jack momentarily lifts his hand from Will’s head and Will sighs and drags it back down, hearing Jack chuckle under his breath. “You got your calender down ‘n everything.”

“Twenty-fifth!” She exclaims, staring expectantly at Will.  _ “November.”  _ And it clicks. Two days, and Mike Wheeler would be on their doorstep. Something in his chest tightened, and he leaned further into Jack’s hand still in his hair, though now scraping his scalp in an oddly comforting way.

“...And?” Jack tilts his head like a confused puppy-dog, and Will giggles despite himself. He’d be lying if he said Jack wasn’t appealing in more ways than one. “November twenny-fifth national confuse Jack Parson day or sum’n?” 

“Mike!” Was all she could breathe out as she fell back onto her bed in their shared and awkwardly divided room. 

“Oh, that kid from Indiana, right?” Jack looked down at him to see Will nod, eyes shut in the hopes he could drown it all out. He opened them for a moment to see Jack waggle his eyebrows. “El’s  _ boooooyfriend.” _

“Grow up.” El laughed, and tossed a pillow at Jack’s head, Will laughing helplessly along as Jack ducked and stuck a tongue out at her.

“Play nice, kids, let me get my beauty sleep.” Will muttered, still trying to get away with his I’m Closing My Eyes to Rest, Not Because My Sister Just Trudged Up My Past (?) Debilitating Love For Her Boyfriend routine.

“Not like you need it, gorgeous.” Jack flicked his forehead and let Will lay his head in his lap, and Will decided he might just survive Thanksgiving if he could see Jack when all was said and done with Mike. Because he was pretty sure this time around they  _ both  _ knew perfectly well what they were getting themselves into. So he hummed his agreement with a smile, and did not flick Jack in return.

***

The following days went by in a slow crawl, like limping to the finish line. He’d been dreading the twenty-eighth, and time knew it. El had clearly expected him to be just as excited about Mike’s visit as she was, an expectation he failed to live up to as he glared at the calendar. Jack looked over his shoulder, ruffling Will’s hair to draw him away from the brightly colored paper and even brighter scribbles surrounding the next day’s date. “C’mon Wise, you’ve been staring at that thing all morning. I’m getting bored  _ for _ you.”

“Sorry, Jack.” Will patted the hand now resting carefully on his shoulder. Not in the way Joyce did, like she was scared he might break, just in the way that means Jack would rather kiss a fish than raise a rough hand to Will. “Just thinking.”

“Well I’m tryin’ to savor my last moments with Mr. Byers before we’re torn apart for  _ four whole days…”  _ Jack groaned and flopped back onto Will’s bed, arm flung over his face. “Parting is such sweet sorrow!”

Will laughed. Softly, like his mind was miles ahead of him. Jack sat up, staring at him curiously. “You sure you’re okay? I can prob’ly sneak out tomorrow or sum’n...have some of Joyce’s potato salad?” Jack’s hand fell from his head to his side as they talked, and brushed against Will’s almost purposefully. “I don’t mind, you know I ain’t excited to see Aunt Shelby.”

“That’s alright.” Will busied himself pulling Jack’s hand into his to toy with his fingers and twist the rings that shone on his knuckles. Sometimes, Jack would let him borrow one, and Will thought it made him look cool. A thin silver band on his middle finger. (Leather jackets, cigarette smoke, a lovely dark Camaro and fingers itching to swing, to hit, and a thin band wrapped around the middle one-) “We’ll get by. And I’ll bring you leftovers.”

“You’re a lifesaver, Birdie, you really are.” Jack muttered, and flipped his hand over. He wiggled his fingers in what seemed to be an invitation for Will to intertwine his own with them, but that sinking feeling (beating against his ribs, just below his heart) bid him only to trace the lines on Jack’s palm and tentatively ask what tape they should play before Jack goes home.

***

El was ecstatic over breakfast. Will almost expected her to dance around the kitchen and make a microphone of her spoon. She smiled into her cereal and, not for the first time that morning, checked the time. “Soon. Four hours.”

Will nodded and tried to look excited, internally groaning at not only the fact that Mike would still be ignoring him, just in the same room again, but that he would have to push through without Jack to rub circles into the back of his hand or laugh and whisper comments between mouthfuls of bread and cranberry sauce. Most of the time he didn’t realize how much he enjoyed Jack’s company until there was a lack of it. It was almost worse when he did.

“Is Jack coming?” El bit into her toast (smeared with grape jam Joyce had bought just for her, because Will preferred raspberry).

He swallowed, feeling damn near guilty for no particular reason. “No. He’s got family in town and his mom wants him there, so…”

“Not even for a little bit?” El deflated a little, and Will felt his shoulders mimic hers. “I wanted him to meet Mike.”

Will froze mid-sip from his narrow glass of orange juice and sputtered, coughing as he lowered it back to the table. “Yeah. Maybe next year.” Though he deeply, thoroughly hoped not.

***

He had almost forgotten Mike’s smile. In Hawkins it was a fact of life: the earth spins around the sun, the sun is burning indefinitely, and Mike Wheeler has a pretty, wide, frogfaced smile. He had almost forgotten how he breathed Mike in like air, and the way his lungs ached because he would not, could not exhale. How inexplicably fond he was of even the most infuriating of Mike’s habits. He could not forget, however, (as Mike would not let him) that the rise and fall of Mike’s chest would never stutter when Will smiled. The earth spins around the sun, the sun is burning indefinitely, and Will Byers is somewhere in between.

He carried Mike’s bags upstairs while El gave him a tearful greeting, and he does not say a word. It comes as no great shock when Mike does not notice. He made the guest bed and left everything easy to find while Mike and El played catch-up as if they didn’t talk for hours every night. He didn’t come down until a quarter to dinner, and it’s Joyce who comes to retrieve him.

“Are you feeling okay?” She sat on the end of his bed and leaned forward to press a palm to his forehead, brushing his bangs from his face as he peered up at her. “You haven’t been down all night. Don’t you wanna talk to Mike?”

Will hesitated a moment too long before he nodded, and knew it was too late. Joyce had a killer intuition, and it wasn’t like he was making it too hard for her. “I thought you two were best friends-”   
  
“Yeah, well, so did I.” It’s timid, but the weight is there, and it falls on his chest nearly hard enough to knock him breathless. Joyce’s hand recoiled and she opened her mouth, probably to go on one of her spiels, but Will really wasn’t in the mood to talk, so instead: “I’ll be down in a minute. Save me a seat please?”

The aforementioned saved seat was appreciatively far from Mike, though only diagonal, and Mike’s conversation paused when he settled at the table. “Will! It’s uh- it’s been a while, did you just get home?”

Will gave him a tight lipped smile and looked to Joyce, who stared disapprovingly at Mike, nearly enough to rival Hopper. Jonathan’s lips pursed as he awkwardly sipped from his glass. “No, I’ve been here. The whole time.”

El chewed her lip and looked up from her mashed potatoes, guilt written plain on her face, and Will met her eye. “Sorry, Will.”

“It’s alright, El.” Mike picked at his green beans and chuckled, did not look up from his plate, and Will felt his fists clench under the table. “He’s just being antisocial.”

“Missed you too.” Will murmured to his cornbread, and pretended it didn’t sting.

“No he’s not, Will’s social.” El was facing Mike, then, and Will heard his own fork hit his plate as he fumbled with it. 

“Since when?” Mike laughed, and Will could almost see the dorky pictures Mike was conjuring up in his mind, and maybe even of the cowering in that cold (he likes it cold) alley Halloween night, Will’s eyes red and the world around him redder.

“Ja-”

“I joined some clubs at school.” He interjected, desperate to cut off El’s reply. She furrowed her brows and shook her head a little, ready to try again, and Will raised his, eyes widening for a moment, praying she’d get the message. “Church volunteering. That kinda stuff.”

“Huh. Didn’t think that was your thing.”

“You don’t think a lot of things about me.” 

The table was quiet, suddenly, deafeningly so, and they ate in silence. 

Will could not find much to be grateful for as he fell into bed. Friends don’t lie, friend’s don’t keep secrets, and he couldn’t blame El, not really. She hadn’t meant any harm. But when Mike stood in his doorway that night and smiled, (“I’m happy for you. Jack seems...cool.” He couldn't even begin to imagine all El had told him, couldn’t bear to. The pinkies hooked under cafeteria tables, the arms wrapped around shoulders and hands toying with necklaces, rings. The shirts borrowed and teasing shoves and lingering looks and, once, a kiss that still set his lips alight-) he finds it strange how much he didn’t want Mike to find out.

Will wishes for a thousand years before Christmas.

***

The following two days are spent awkwardly, but slowly, anxiously, he drew closer. This time, when he walks into the room and falls into the couch, Mike looks away from the TV he and El had glued their eyes to. “Morning, sleepyhead.”

“What time is it?” Will scratched his head and rubbed his eyes, adjusted the shirt that had started to slip off his shoulder. He felt eyes burn there.

Mike was quiet for a moment, blinked, registered the question. “..It’s, um-” 

“Nine.” El answered for him from her position on the floor, hunched over a bowl of cheerios.

“Thanks.” Will leaned over and ruffled her hair, now that she had quite a head of it. She giggled, and he smiled to himself as he settled back into the couch. Mike’s stare was unwavering. He shifted uncomfortably. “What?”

“Huh?”   
  
“Nevermind.” And with that, Mike’s gaze was gone. Will almost missed it. But instead of chasing after it, he stood up and wandered to the kitchen in search of breakfast. He paused as he passed Mike on the couch. Walked back a couple paces. Leaned and flicked the side of his head. “You want toast?”

Mike looked up at him and smiled, and Will felt his knees wobble a little. “Sure. Thanks, Will.” 

He gulped. “Mhm.” And hurried off into the kitchen, where he made four slices of toast, two with raspberry and two with grape jam, because he knew Mike would rather die than eat jam with seeds in it, and El would want a bite.

When Will curled up into the unoccupied corner of the couch and handed Mike his toast, he laughed and pulled Will’s legs into his lap, insisted he didn’t need to scrunch himself up like that. Mike’s chest rose and fell slowly, a deep breath as his face went crooked. He looked at Will, then the TV again, then (three minutes later) Will. Through a mouthful of toast with grape jam, he leans over to Will and hesitates. Then, softly, “Sorry.”

“I know.” He kicked Mike in the stomach, not hard enough to hurt, just to get him to look at him. He gave him a smile to prove he meant it. And Mike smiled back.

Softer. “Missed you. Really.” 

Will offered up another smile, genuine as he could muster. “I know.”

They aren’t twelve anymore, but that night, Will help set up a makeshift bed for Mike on the pullout couch. Mike impatiently flicked through channels while they lounged under the blanket tent Will made them, and he doesn’t huddle up next to him and feel Mike’s arm around his shoulders, but he nudges him with his feet and laughs when he mutters that they’re cold. Mike offered to fill him in on the latest happenings in Hawkins. Dustin and Suzie broke up, probably for the better. Lucas and Max broke up too, but they do that every week, so he isn’t all that concerned. Steve started working at the video store, so he could sneak them free movie rentals sometimes. Mike is pretty sure he and that Robin girl are dating. He saw them holding hands at Billy’s funeral. But they didn’t kiss or anything. Maybe that’s because it would be disrespectful to kiss in a cemetery, he doesn’t really know. A silence falls over them, TV chatter and the ticking of the living room clock the only sound. Funeral.

“Is Max okay?” Will asked after a beat. 

“As much as she can be.”

The silence again, and this time he drowns in it. He thought of losing Jonathan like that, and he grimaced, pulled his knees to his chest. Mike must’ve read his mind, because he scooted closer to give him a comforting pat on the knee. His hand lingered for a moment, thumb brushing over his kneecap, then fell to his side.

“Their uh...Their dad didn’t show up.” Mike focused his eye on the TV, not really watching, and picked at the couch. Will winced. “My mom drove Max there.”

Will suppressed the urge to cover Mike’s hand with his own, tangle their fingers together, squeeze reassuringly. “Did she hold up alright?”   
  
“No.” Mike replied, and left it at that. Then, couch thread twisted between his fingers, “Steve cried.”

“Steve  _ Harrington?”  _

Mike laughed a little, nodded, as if to ask  _ who else?  _ then turned to look behind him. Seemingly satisfied with the lack of a third party, he sunk further into the couch and met Will’s eye. “Hopper’s was harder.”

Will comes to the realization that Mike had been checking for El, and felt his heart sink. “Wanna talk about it?”

“No.”

Mike shifted to fully lay down, and Will sank down with him. He held his breath, then moved closer, closer still, let his cheek rest against Mike’s chest. His heartbeat was steady, and Will wrapped an arm around his back, squeezed once, tight, comfortingly (at least he hoped). A few minutes passed, and he clambered off the couch and staggered through the dark of the hallway. “Night, Mike.”

But he was already asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im back ! sorry this took forever for as short as it is, life's been a pain. i intend to update again as soon as i can, tho ! ideally later this week :)

Mike’s fourth day in the (new) Byers household, and Will had only just built up the courage to start bridging the formidable gap. Or, at least, he thought he had. But then Mike is silent over breakfast, and lunch, and dinner is approaching before he says much of anything to Will. He thought of the days when Mike would’ve told him what was on his mind immediately, and Will would make little noises to show he was listening, offer a hug when he was finished. Now, he feels his leg jitter under the dining room table and Mike is quiet.

“I go home soon.”

“Yeah.” Two days, to be exact. El was already beginning to get mopey, and he dreaded the day Mike would leave more so because he knew she would not take it well. They would see each other again come Christmas time, and talk every night through the crackly old walkie talkie El kept on her bedside table. Will knew that. But he also knew that El wasn’t fond of the idea of someone else leaving. “I’d come with you if I could.” Mike blinked, eyes widening for a beat, and Will flushed, fabric of his jeans clenched tight in his sweaty fist. “Because, y’know. I miss everyone.”

“Yeah.” 

Silence, again, but this time it’s heavy and thick and awkward and suffocating. Will swallows, nods. “Uh, you wanna play Yars’ Revenge?” He juts his thumb over his shoulder (and narrowly avoids poking himself in the eye) to the atari in the living room, and Mike grins as he nods and slides out of his seat. The tension had begun to break, and Will was grateful.

It almost felt like it had Before, sitting next to Mike on Joyce’s beige little couch, nudging him with his shoulder and dodging swift distraction kicks. They’d had the atari since they moved in, but he had only ever used it when Jack wanted to, and Jack was more than content to sit in his room and talk about whatever Will wanted to talk about. Often, he wanted to talk about Jack. So he had grown to know Jack quite well, almost as well as he knew Mike. Only Jack knew Will even better.

“Stop, you’re gonna mess me up-” Mike laughed, knocking his arm into Will’s and surging forward, controller gripped tight in hand. They’d switch when Mike died, and make a whole other game out of throwing the other off balance.

“Yep.” Will grinned and popped the p as he bumped into him again, watching Mike’s fingers (nimble, long, like the hands of a pianist, even though Mike didn’t play a lick of anything) fumble on the joystick. 

“You’re the worst.” Mike bowed his head and sighed out a laugh as the screen started up another level, the previous having been sorely lost. Will laughed with him and plucked the controller from his hands, already a few moments behind in the level. Like Mike had gotten a head start.

Will didn’t reply as he focused on the screen, fingers not nearly as agile as Mike’s, and out of practice (video games had always been more Mike’s thing than his). Mike’s feet nudged against his, and Will smiled down at his mismatched socks. His eyes stayed locked on Mike’s feet as they kicked at his shins, then toyed with the bands in Will’s socks. Then, on his arms, bony and pale and dusted with freckles, elbowing him every now and then and brushing up against him when he moved. Will let the sounds of the game fade a little, watching Mike’s fingers drum on his knee.

He lost rather quickly.

Mike was much more vocal over dinner that night, laughing and making light conversation with Jonathan. Every now and then, he would look at Will and smile, nudging his foot under the table again. The atari was still warm from use, and their game had not ended either. So Will kicked him back, still talking to El like nothing was happening, even if he had to stretch his legs out farther than Mike did to reach his intended target. They stopped when Mike tucked his legs back and Will slid so far to reach them he nearly fell out of his chair, Mike laughing into a bite of corn on the cob.

***

Will dragged himself out of bed, unexpectedly sluggish and already chasing after the warmth of it the minute his feet hit the wood floor. He tugged his blanket along with him and wrapped it around himself, braving the journey down the stairs to find something to eat. He found Mike perched at the counter, sitting on a barstool and nursing a glass of milk while El hung onto his arm and listened to him catch her up on the latest episodes of Star Blazers.

“Morning.” Will greeted them and lunged to snatch up an apple from the basket next to Mike’s arm.

“Morning!” El perked up and handed the apple to him before he had to reach too far for it, and gestured to the seat on the opposite side of Mike. 

“Hey, Will.” Mike patted the seat next to him, and then Will’s shoulder, and he tugged the blanket tighter around himself like armor. Something in his chest turned to lead, and he resisted a grimace as he found his way onto the barstool, only to eye the cabinet below the sink and consider how many chemicals he’d have to stir into his orange juice to smother the butterflies in his stomach.

Mike received a nod in return as Will bit into his apple, conversation dwindling and leaving the three awkwardly leaning on the counter. Mike’s approaching absence loomed over them. Will was getting ready to break the silence (square your shoulders, swing, no, feet shoulder-width apart, that’s right-) when the job was done for him, a sharp three-rap knock sounding from the front door. El started to shift out of her seat until he placed a hand on hers, smiling and dragging his blanket with him as he made his way to the living room. The peephole of their front door had been painted over when he and Jonathan were assigned to painting it the bright red El and Joyce had picked out, something to set them apart from the identical houses of their neighborhood. It was clean and cookie-cutter in a way that both comforted and disturbed him. Regardless, whoever was on the other side was distorted by a thin layer of red they had unsuccessfully tried to wash off. Cautiously, he unlocked the door and pulled it open a crack, immediately met with Jack’s eye peering through it.

“Willy-boy, you know that peephole don’t work, now lemme in, I miss you.” His voice came out garbled as his cheek smushed against the door, and Will smiled fondly. His hand hovered over the doorknob. He had never hesitated to let Jack in, not once. But Mike’s hand on his shoulder left a burning there, and he could almost see them in the kitchen. “Seriously, Aunt Shelby just left and I need to tell you about it. Worst four days of my life, ‘specially without Birdie Byers.”

All Will could muster was a half-hearted giggle. Jack pulled away from the door, and Will felt his heart clench when his face fell, all too familiar.  _ Can we play D&D yet? _ “You alright? Sorry if I’m bein’ a bother, I can come back later…” Realization hit him, Will could feel the lightbulb go off. “Right. Indiana Boy is here. Reunion party.”

“No! I mean, yeah, but come in.” Will wrapped his hand around Jack’s wrist (or at least as much as he could manage, he wasn’t as lanky as Mike but not as stocky as the football players that teased them in the hallways, a nice sort of in between that left him with slightly muscular arms and a jawline Will ducked his head to admire every now and then) and tugged him in, shutting the door softly behind him. “I missed you too. A lot. It’s been a mess.”

“Aw, you’re a mess without me?” Jack grinned and stepped closer to him, then nudged Will’s arms apart and fit himself between them, hugged him like it’d been a million years. With the week Will was having, it was. “Really though, you good?”

“Mhm.” Will mumbled into his chest, and he’d missed the smell of Jack’s laundry detergent and citrus soap. It smelled like home more than the cold living room they huddled in, or the shack in Hawkins he quickly steered his mind from. “Tell you later.”

He felt Jack smile and nod into his hair as he tugged at Will’s blanket to wrap himself up in it. Will denied himself to be grateful for the proximity as Jack was forced to keep one hand around Will’s waist. “Why’s it so cold in here? Y’all ain't got heat, or do you just like freezing your asses off?”

“We do, just not strong ones.” They weren’t allowed to leave them on overnight for fear of burning the house down, and they took hours to warm up and do much of anything at all besides make noise. Jonathan was working on getting them fixed up after he’d noticed how badly Will shook, how he clung to whoever was closest when the cold really started to kick in and buried himself under so many sweaters he’d sooner catch a fever than a stuffy nose.

“Heaters or asses?” Jack laughed when Will nudged him and almost sent him careening into the coffee table, and it occurred to him how much he really had missed Jack.

“I can still kick you out.”

“Into the cold? Mean.”

“Jack!” El slid into the living room on her socks, beaming up at his considerably taller height. He smiled in turn and steadied her shoulder with the hand not curled around Will’s waist.

“Elly-bean!” He greeted her just as excitedly but didn’t move from Will’s side, and he couldn’t quite decipher whether it was the cold or himself that made Jack stay glued there. “Sorry, Wise here was keepin’ me all to himself.”

Will flushed and elbowed him, and Jack snickered as he nudged him back. “Was not, you’re just clingy.”

“Ouch!” Jack snuggled closer into the blanket, and Will felt the hand that gripped his side pinch a little in response, letting out a squeak that made Jack laugh harder. This seemed to be enough to draw Mike from the kitchen, because he stood in the doorway with his arms folded tight around his chest. “Oh! Indiana Boy!”

“Mike.” He didn’t budge from the wall, and Will shrunk a little, even if it wasn’t directed at him.

“Right! Sorry. I’m Jack.” He stuck out a hand and held it there for a few seconds before realizing Mike wasn’t going to shake it and dropped it back to his side. 

“I’ve heard.” Mike’s voice was nearly as cold as the room, without the autumn yellow tinging it. 

“So...all the way from Indiana. Quite a trip.” Jack huffed uncomfortably, rocking on his heels, and Will laid his hand over his reassuringly with a squeeze that Jack glanced at him gratefully for. He saw Mike’s eyes draw to it, watched the curl of his lips and then the flicker of his gaze to the floor.

“Huh?”

“...Indiana. Did you drive?”

“Yeah. Couple days.” Mike didn’t look up from the floor, and Will was starting to get shaky in the way that made Jack grip him a little tighter, like if he held on and pulled he could drag him back down to earth. He rubbed those little circles into the back of Will’s hand, he knew it made him feel safer, and he hated not to have someone with him when he started to panic, just in case he ended up somewhere cold again.

“...Right. Well, uh, sorry to interrupt-”

“Stay!” El chimed in, still smiling at him. “For breakfast!”

“Will?” Jack looked to him for confirmation, and he squeezed his hand again as he gave him a curt nod. “Yeah. Breakfast sounds nice.”


End file.
